E no cotián... a poesía: Woody Guthrie (1912-1967)

Continuando na liña da poesía popular emprendida a semana pasada, presentamos hoxe a Woodie Guthrie. Tratándose dun cantautor norteamericano, probablemente non apareza nos libros de literatura, mais consideramos que debe aparecer aquí por ser esta unha sección poetizadora do cotián.

Outra razón importante para que apareza neste blog é que recentemente saiu publicada unha reedición dalgunha das súas cancións interpretadas por Lee Wolfe, Maraya Zydeco e Manuel Cordero. E diredes vós... e que ten que ver iso con nós? Que temos a sorte de contar con Maraya Zydeco (María Álvarez) como profesora de música durante este curso académico.

A poesía de Guthrie é unha poesía combativa e sentida. Era habitual que a súa guitarra levase o lema: "this machine kills fascists" e consideraba que a canción popular podía axudar a transformar o mundo. Como podemos ler na cabeceira do seu sitio oficial:

A folk song is what's wrong and how to fix it or it could be
who's hungry and where their mouth is or
who's out of work and where the job is or
who's broke and where the money is or
who's carrying a gun and where the peace is

Non alongaremos innecesariamente esta anotación. Come When I Call You (1949) comeza e remata así:

Oh, will you come when I call you?
I’ll come when you call me.
I’ll call you at half-past one!
One’s for the pretty little baby that's
born, born, born and gone away.

Oh, will you come when I call you?
I’ll come when you call me.
I’ll call you at half-past two.
Two's for the love of me and you.
One's for the pretty little baby
that’s born, born, born and gone away.

Oh, will you come when I call you?
I’ll come when you call me.
I’ll call you at half-past three.
Three’s for these warships at sea.
Two's for the love of me and you.
One's for the pretty little baby
that’s born, born, born and gone away.

Will you come when I call you?
I’ll come when you call me.
I’ll call you at half-past four.
Four's for the guns of this war.
Three’s for these warships at sea.
Two's for the love of me and you.
One's for the pretty little baby
that’s born, born, born and gone away.

[…]

Oh, will you come when I call you?
I’ll come when you call me.
I’ll call you half-past ten.
Ten for the atom bomb loose again.
Nine for the crippled and blind.
Eight for my eight billion graves.
Seven for continents blowed up.
Six for the cities all wrecked.
Five's for these warplanes that fly.
Four's for the guns of this war.
Three’s for these warships at sea.
Two's for the love of me and you.
One's for the pretty little baby
that’s born, born, born and gone away.